Tom Hanks Ain't Got Shit On Me!

Okay, I gotta tell the tale from a couple of weekends ago about my "bachelor party." My time is obviously limited with the wedding a couple of days away, so if I don't get back to the computer to blog before then, I need to talk about the bachelor party before I get married. The shit that happened there cannot be referred to by me after I'm married; hell, I'm not sure if it's legal in Tennessee to even think about what happened after I enter holy matrimony.

Like a lot of guys, I grew up watching the movie Bachelor Party and thinking, man, my bachelor party is gonna be wild like that! Strippers, a huge hotel, a school bus filled with my buddies, hot girls from my past showing up and offering themselves to me, maybe some drugs and a donkey OD'ing on coke...hey, what can I say, it's one of my favorite movies. Tom Hanks and the rest of that cast must have had an absolute blast filming that debauchery, and I always thought that any successful bachelor party had many of those elements, if not all. What happened last weekend did not happen in the movie, and if it did, the movie would have been rated X.

My uncle, who is my best man, said that he'd throw me a bash in Chicago if I could come up for a weekend. However, when he found out that I'm a loser and only had one or two friends that would be able to make it, he scrapped his original plans to go all-out and hire a roomful of talent and go somewhere private. Instead, we went to a gentlemen's club. Now, he claimed that he wasn't familiar with the area strip clubs, even going so far as to say that the last time he went was when he took "Ronnie" and me back in 1995. Really? Well, he may have been telling the truth, because the place he chose wasn't very good. It was called Atlantis, and no one I asked had ever heard of it. My buddy "Drew" was coming out for this, and he and his friends and brother are strip club connoisseurs, but they never heard of it. But my uncle said that it looked classy on the website, so he was sold.

The issue with that is that in Chicago, contact is not allowed between strippers and clientele. So the classier it looks, usually, it just means the more expensive the air dance will be. Drew and I have been fans of a strip club in Hammond, IN, called Industrial Strip, because contact is allowed in the form of what they call "friction dances." And Hammond is very close to Chicago, about 15 minutes depending on where in Chicago you are. So he and I had already decided that after this official bachelor party Saturday night, Oct. 1, we would go to Industrial the next night for an unofficial soiree. The wild card would be the person Drew was inviting to take part in Saturday and Sunday's festivities. His brother and friends were unable to come out, but someone was willing to. That someone was "Ambrosia."

Ambrosia is a woman with whom Ronnie became close because we all worked at CBOE back in the late '90s. She's about our age, which would now be mid-30s, white, heavy, but very pretty in the face, and she knows it. She's a little arrogant, smart-mouthed asides hidden inside a sweet voice, and a little racist, so it's a sign of how funny and friendly she is that I'm still friends with her. The racist in her came out one night way back when she was feeling down about herself because she was recently divorced with a child. We were in someone's basement on a Saturday night waiting for Drew to get off work so we could go out. It was the guy whose house we were in, me, Ronnie, and Ambrosia. At one point she asked rhetorically who'd want to go out with her, and all three of us slowly raised our hands. It was pretty comical. But later that night, Ronnie decided to make his move, sensing a desperate woman, and within earshot of me, her response right to his face was a quote I would never forget: "I don't want to catch jungle fever. I might get malaria." Classy. So with that barrier built, Ronnie never got with her, and I never tried. But over the years, she's e-mailed and called me asking for advice dealing with men. And hey, that always made me feel good, because she was admitting to me that she didn't have all the answers and she respected me enough that she thought I may have some insight.

Her son, who's a teen now, has severe health issues which put him in and out of the hospital, so I wasn't shocked when Drew said that Ambrosia would be coming out to the strip club and hanging with us. She gives the vibe on Facebook that, as much as she loves her son, she really likes going out and getting away from everything. She has to have a billion pics of herself at various parties and outings. The mild surprise was that she would come to a strip club, because I wasn't aware of her being into girls, although Drew has seen her get drunk enough to start making out with women and immediately regret it the next morning. So I was looking forward to the evening because I'd get to see my good friend Drew, I'd get to see Ambrosia, and my uncle and Drew were going to buy my lap dances. And hey, if things got really wild, maybe I could get Ambrosia to accept a lap dance or two and fulfill the fantasy of every man, which is watching two girls rubbing on each other.

So my uncle drove me to Atlantis, and it was a little after 9P, which is kinda early for a strip club, and sure enough, there weren't many guys there yet, and we were descended on by everyone soon after sitting down. The club manager came over and wanted to give us a tour of the whole place. The strippers couldn't stop coming over and saying hi or sitting on our laps. One after another, they wouldn't let us breathe. One girl asked if I wanted to buy her a drink. (That's another Chicago strip club indicator--alcohol served means no total nudity, which sucks because what's the point of a strip club if the girls can't strip everything off??) Another girl was right in my face with big-time cigarette breath. My uncle theorized that we were dressed nicely so they thought we had money. I think it was that there just weren't many men there. Drew had to go pick up Ambrosia, so they were on their way while all this was happening, and I kept thinking, I don't really like this place and when they arrive I think I'm gonna have us all go to Industrial Strip.

I held off all the strippers from talking me into a private dance...except one. She looked Latina and had a thick accent, which she said was Peruvian. But I clearly understood the third sentence she said to me: "So, you wanna stick your dick in my pussy?" Yeah, she was really aggressive. I like really aggressive. And she was really hot, nice rack and everything. So about the same time some black girl named Sunshine talked my uncle into a private dance, the Peruvian took me into a private room as well. The dance was way more contact than I expected at a Chicago club. She grabbed my hands and put them on her tits, which would never happen at Admiral Theatre. At one point she put her hand on my jeans and felt around for my cock, and when she found it, she exclaimed, "OH! There it is!" and started grinding on it, although again, it's Chicago and there's alcohol on premises, so her G-string was still on the whole time. "It's so thick!" she purred as she had herself a grand time at the rate of $30 per song. Two songs later, I had to leave before she stuck her hand down my pants or something.

A great private dance, for sure, but I was still uncomfortable with all the attention at this place. The manager was waiting at the table when we returned to ask if we were ready for that tour. So I went into the lobby and called Drew and told him not to pay for parking or the entrance fee when he got here because we would be going straight to Industrial Strip. My uncle and I left, almost feeling like we were sneaking out because we had told so many women that we may give them a dance later once we settled in and my friends arrived. We met Drew and Ambrosia outside, we drove to a nearby cash station because my uncle was already running low, and I got my first look at what Ambrosia chose to wear on this evening, which was a halter top accentuating her ample bosom. Nice. Like I said, she knows she's hot despite being a large woman. If you're wondering, she's about 5'6", 240, I'd guess. Oh, and she's got the "beauty mark" mole above her lip, and she's claimed from the day we met that Cindy Crawford, the original beauty mark, is a distant cousin. I've always been skeptical, but whatever.

So on to IS, and a totally different atmosphere. It's later at this point, about 11P, so the place is packed, the smoke is thick because Indiana hasn't banned cigarettes in all public places yet, the talent is aplenty and many are heavily tattooed. Ambrosia was allowed in for free because she was a girl, so at least we didn't have to cover her cover. Drew paid $60 extra for three VIP seats, which were just leather seats right behind the main stage seating. It's a ripoff for sure, but Drew offered. So all four of us kept rotating between sitting at the stage and sitting in the VIP seats. We probably seemed like a rowdy bunch to those sitting behind us, constantly getting up and blocking their line of vision. We got Ambrosia to sit at the stage for a while, and every time a dancer got on the main stage, despite all the guys circling the stage, she headed straight for Ambrosia and immediately buried her head in Ambrosia's cleavage, tickling me to no end. Some of them slowly gave it to her, rubbing their breasts in her face or dragging their lips across her neck, and she really seemed to be enjoying it, making me and my dick very happy. Look, I've lived a bit of a sheltered life, so I don't often get to see women rubbing on each other and making each other hot, and of course there's a little something extra when one of the women is a friend you've known for a long time and she's attractive. Every time I offered a dollar to a stripper for a little stage action and then directed her to give it to my female friend, not only was it hot to watch, but I felt a little like a director of my own porn fantasy. "Yeah, sweetie, give it to her. Make it steamy. Motorboat her tits. Oh, yes. That's very nice."

I got a private dance that night, and it was memorable for many reasons. One is that she gave me a first and last name and told me that she's got a website. Her name is Raquel Sieb, or at least that's her stage name. She sat on my lap and for the next 30 minutes proceeded to tell me all about her life, as if I asked. It's a strip club and therefore very dark, so I wasn't able to tell just how old she was when she sat on me. But within a few minutes she volunteered that she was 49. 49!! And stripping!! Really?!? Oh, that wasn't all. She was also a porn actress. Wow. I was kinda speechless. Her body was excellent for a 49-year-old, curvy in the right places, including a great rack. I couldn't tell she had tape covering the nipples, but then she took the white halter top down and peeled off the tape, and out popped one of the longer nipples I've been around, and she basically had my attention for the rest of our time together. She seemed intelligent despite telling me all these things about herself that would make me run the other way if I were trying to pick her up on the street. But she was compelling in her own way. I volunteered some things about myself as well, the most shocking to her being that I had been dating my fiancee for 5½ years and we hadn't had sex and I had been faithful the whole time. I think her head may have exploded. Finally, because it was getting late and my uncle was getting tired, he shoved $40 in my hand and told me to go ahead and take her to the private area. She gave a nice friction dance, but under the light in the private room, her age became rather obvious, and it was a bit of a turnoff. When a woman bends over in front of you and sticks two fingers deep in her coochie, that should be awesome, but her pussy was so weathered that it was a little gross. Nonetheless, I would Tweet her after I came back to Memphis a few days later, and she Tweeted back, "I remember you!" I would hope so. You only sat on my lap for a half-hour.

I had been on a mission to find a woman willing to give a private dance to Ambrosia while I watched, because since she was enjoying things so much, I thought she'd be up for this fantasy. She was, and Raquel said that it wouldn't be a problem, but Ambrosia didn't want a dance from her. And another dancer Ambrosia propositioned said that she couldn't do that. So it seemed that, depending on which stripper you asked, this would be something that could be done. But my uncle was ready to go as soon as I emerged from my private dance with Raquel, and once you get a round of applause from all three members of your party, I guess that's a sign that you have reached the end of the evening. So I got a promise from Ambrosia that we would come back the next night and find someone else willing to fulfill my fantasy.

The next day, I went bowling with my uncle, and we wound up staying longer than I expected, so I kept texting Drew throughout the day, letting him know when I'd be back home at my uncle's so he could come pick me up. It wasn't until about 10P that I was ready, but thankfully Drew and Ambrosia were ready as well. Ambrosia's top this time was exactly the same as Saturday night, black and heavy on the boob support, except this one had one shoulder strap. Drew had an internet coupon for 2-for-1 admission, and of course Ambrosia walked in for free again. But the scene was very different. Sunday nights are very, very slow for a strip club. There were no more than seven strippers in the whole place by my count. There were a lot less patrons as well. But I was fine because I didn't feel like it was too crowded. I had some space. Plus, there were a couple of dancers that I liked. It would have sucked if all of the dancers were undesirable to me, but a couple of them were yummy. This one Amazon woman was there Saturday night and also Sunday. She was white, about 6' in heels, and not skinny. There was serious cottage cheese on her ass and thighs. And yet, she was hot because she worked it like she was Paris Hilton, and she didn't care that she was the biggest girl there. Plus, when she got on the stripper pole, she actually spun around using just her legs. Baby girl had some gymnastics training before she put on the pounds. I was strangely proud of her for putting herself out there like that, and Ambrosia reacted the same way. She said if someone was willing to give her a private dance while I watched, she preferred it to be the big girl. Well, it took almost all night because the big girl was giving private dances, but I finally got a hold of her and asked if she'd be willing to dance for Ambrosia while I watched, and she said yes. Then she said to give her some time for another customer, and she'd be over to give us that dance. She seemed smart and eager. So it was all set.

Well, things don't always go as planned. In this strip club with about ten men in it, one of them kept the big girl engrossed in a conversation for a good 45 minutes while the night drew close to its conclusion. I mean, there weren't any other strippers around for a while. There was a 15-minute period where every stripper working was off the floor, presumably giving private dances. Music was thumping, customers were sitting around, and no one was stripping. Ambrosia actually got up on an auxiliary pole at one point and did a couple of spins, and we howled and applauded as a female patron yelled, "Amateur night!" A bouncer told Ambrosia to go sit down after about 20 seconds. Drew and I tipped her a buck, and she considered updating her Facebook to talk about her new experience on the stripper pole until she realized that her boyfriend, who doesn't live with her, thought she was home asleep right now. It was after this adventure that a couple of strippers finally made their way onto the main stage, and the big girl emerged but got caught up in that long conversation on the other side of the building.

So the place is getting ready to close and we haven't gotten any private dances, and at this point I don't even want a dance for myself, I just want to get one for Ambrosia and watch because that's a scenario that I don't have a chance to see often. A dancer who looked Indian or Mediterranean came up on the main stage and gave a vibe like she actually wanted to be there, and she told me that she would do a private dance for my friend while I watched, so I asked Ambrosia if she'd like to get a dance from this girl if I couldn't get a hold of the big girl, and she said sure. Then I finally saw the big girl walking in our direction, and I asked if she was ready for us yet, and she said "Give me five minutes," and I said okay. At this moment, the DJ announced last call. I made the decision to grab the Indian-looking girl and ask her for the private dance because I didn't want to risk the big girl getting caught up in another long convo on her way to us. The Indian girl said let's go right now, and we were on our way. We all walked past the big girl on our way to the private room, and I didn't know what the big girl was going to do or say. I was kinda sorry that we couldn't have her because that's really who Ambrosia wanted, but she took too fucking long. The big girl's eyes got wide as she recognized us as her potential customers, then she shot two thumbs up and forced a big smile and said loudly, "You guys have a great time!" I will never know if she really meant that or if she was incredibly pissed that we didn't wait for her.

Ambrosia would tell me later that while I was grabbing a chair for myself, the Indian girl asked if I would be jealous during this dance, indicating that she thought Ambrosia and I were a couple. Considering her "jungle fever" comment years ago, this really amused me. We were assumed as a couple by almost every dancer on the main stage, probably because of how I drooled and stared every time one of them cuddled up with her. But also, I'm a big black guy, and she's a big white woman, and this is not an unusual sighting anymore. Big people tend to gravitate towards each other, and black men tend to gravitate towards white women, so I totally understood how we could be assumed as a couple. Hell, Ambrosia doesn't look all that different from "Karen" or "Sarah" in body type. She's much prettier in the face, but otherwise, she looks like the kind of fat white girl that gets shunned by white guys because they want Barbie dolls, and then the niggas get their hands on her because she's thick and we're attracted to thickness, and they get a taste of a big black dick, and they never date a white guy again. I'm guessing that's what would happen to Ambrosia if she went black, especially considering she has an ex-lover that she calls "Chapstick" because his penis was about the size of a tube of lip balm.

Anyway, the lap dance happened, and it was much hotter than I expected it to be. The first three-song set saw the Indian girl, who called herself Lavinia, stick her hand between Ambrosia's legs and rub her off through her jeans while gyrating her pussy in Ambrosia's face. Ambrosia seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention and the rubbing, occasionally opening her eyes and glancing at me with a wry smile. I sat still in the corner doing what I do best, watching and taking mental pictures. Ambrosia seemed to be tentative about what she wanted to do with Lavinia. She rubbed her hands all along Lavinia's body but seemed to avoid touching her breasts, which were on the small side but were still pretty. Lavinia kept ramping up the heat, touching herself, letting out small moans, rubbing her pussy and Ambrosia's at the same time, then flipping over and kissing Ambrosia's neck and cleavage. That first set lasted about 12 minutes, and I would have been very happy with that display. Lavinia asked Ambrosia, "Do you want me to continue?" She answered, "That's up to him." I thought about how little money I had on me and whether I really wanted to spend more than the $60 this set cost, but it was just so damn sexy that I didn't want to end it, so I said, "I guess we can do one more song." Now, a song is $35, and a three-song set is another $60, so that's why I said one more song. I wasn't trying to buy two full sets. But Lavinia kept going after the first song ended, and it was so hot that I couldn't make her stop. And thank goodness I didn't stop her. It was during this 2nd set that Lavinia put her head between Ambrosia's breasts and covered what was going on with her long black hair. I had to stand up to see what was happening. I was very excited at the thought of Ambrosia's tits being sucked, because that just takes the fantasy to a whole new level. A thought went through my head as I stood up--maybe this is too far for Ambrosia. Maybe she won't want me to see her topless. After all, we're longtime friends, and not lovers, and she has a boyfriend, and maybe this is the edge of her limits...and before that thought could be completed, Lavinia raised her head to show Ambrosia's beautiful tits, and Ambrosia opened her eyes and smiled at me. I wasn't expecting that. She said later that the look on my face when I saw her tits was absolutely priceless. I can imagine. They kept rubbing each other, including Ambrosia finally rubbing Lavinia's tits, and at one point when Lavinia's hand was between Ambrosia's legs I heard a rather loud moan. I couldn't tell who was moaning or why, but the whole scene was just so awesome that I didn't care. Lavinia pulled Ambrosia's top down a couple more times and sucked her nipples before the set was over, then when it ended, she told Ambrosia, "Wow, I wish I could keep going and finish." Ambrosia, red-faced and smiling, replied, "Me too!" I paid the $120 plus tip and led Ambrosia to Drew's car, where he was waiting for us.

The moment we got into the car and closed the doors, Ambrosia exclaimed, "So, I actually orgasmed!" "WHAT?!?" Drew and I said, looking back at her like she was lying. But her flushed face and trembling voice told the story. Lavinia had found the combination that released Ambrosia's waters--rubbing her clit through her jeans and sucking her very sensitive nipples. "I can cum just from having my nipples sucked," she explained to us as we asked her to repeat the story slowly. So if I hadn't agreed to a 2nd set, her nipples wouldn't have come out, and that would have made the night not as great for all of us. She wouldn't have cum, Lavinia wouldn't have had the knowledge that she made a girl cum that night, and I wouldn't have had the experience of watching a girl make another girl cum. And not fake cum like on a porno, real life orgasm ripped from my friend's body while I watched. How fucking awesome is that? I thanked Ambrosia for giving me a wedding present 100,000 times better than all the gifts we're gonna get combined. We all had a late dinner/early breakfast, and Drew dropped me back off at my uncle's house at about 4:30A.

A funny aside to this adventure is, I could have had my oldest cousin a part of everything had he been able to access his woman's cash in time. Huh? Well, my 22-year-old cousin, my uncle's oldest son, was in town, and he was at the house when I was getting ready to leave Sunday night to go to IS. I invited him along, and he thought for a second and decided that he would come along. I then told him that the admission is $15, and he recoiled, which told me that he probably shouldn't be coming along because getting a dance is much more expensive than $15. He then actually said out loud that his baby momma gets paid at midnight on some kind of direct deposit deal, and it was going on 11 now, so maybe I could wait about an hour to go? I told him no, although he has his own ride, so if he really wanted to go, he could have showed up later. But I felt guilty about him potentially taking his baby momma's money so he can go see some titties, so I gave him the vibe that maybe this is bad timing and we can go some other time. The killer is when I saw him after I got back home, and he asked how things went, and me still stunned at having saw what I saw, I described it to him as the greatest night of my life, and he growled, "Ugh! Why'd you have to tell me that??" Too funny.

So that's the story of my bachelor party. It's fitting. It involved me not having enough friends to fill a small room, me having to pay to see what good-looking guys can see for free, me having to accept money from my friend Drew and my uncle to see it because I could never have financed that weekend by myself, and me going crazy over seeing a fat white woman's tits. Not only that, but a woman who normally wouldn't have given me a shot to see her tits or anything else, but because I was paying for her to get off, she had no problem. It all made sense. But in the end, I got to watch a version of Bachelor Party that I actually would not have imagined in my wildest dreams. And I didn't cheat on my fiancee, so I got to watch it guilt-free. Winners all around, if you ask me.

Party On, Garth! Party On, Wayne!

It's such a rare occurrence that I spend some time socializing that I am writing a blog post about it, even though nothing exciting or scandalous happened.


Last Friday, "Drew," his ex, his ex's new guy, and a bunch of other people spent an evening at a dirty play and a heavy metal bar, and I was able to join them. My job asked everyone who would have worked last Friday night's 2nd shift to switch their days off because Friday night was going to be spent updating the system. So I worked last Wednesday, freeing up my Friday night to hang out. I caught the bus and train to the north side and we all caught the latest rendition of the Chicago hit play "Co-Ed Prison Sluts." Drew, a female friend of his, and I saw this play about ten years ago, and it was a hoot. I honestly didn't remember the details or the plot because it was so long ago, but I knew that it was funny. Then, once the show started, I found myself singing along to some of the songs as the memories came rushing back. I won't spoil the show by going into detail, but trust me, it's raunchy, hilarious, and just a good ol' time. We then headed to Kuma's Corner, a very loud bar. The metal music was turned up, and it was relentless. But the food was great. The burgers were served on pretzel rolls, and I can't remember having one of those ever before, but it added a sweetness to the burger that worked very well. There's a long list of selections as far as toppings for the burger, from the tame (mushrooms and onions, which I had) to the savage (one burger has siracha sauce and chili paste, and I'm told that's a vicious combo of heat). But I would get stung a little anyway. I took a couple of dips into the ketchup with my fries before I noticed a kick, and our waitress would tell us later that there's giardiniera in the ketchup. They were so good that I finished the fries and ketchup despite the kick. I would recommend the play and the restaurant, separately or together, unless you don't like dirty jokes or ear-splitting metal music, in which case I'm sure there's some prissy little art exhibit somewhere downtown that you might enjoy.


Much, much thanx once again to Drew for the lift home afterwards, because navigating the city on public transportation at 1A can be lethal.

Interesting Week

I actually got out of the house again last weekend. I went to a Ring of Honor wrestling event in Chicago Ridge last Saturday. The night before, I met my friend "Drew" and his girlfriend downtown and took the Metra to his house in Park Forest, IL. Usually we stay up all night and play poker with Drew's mother and brother, and "Ronnie" if he decides to come there. We did play poker Sunday, but not Friday or Saturday because Drew's mother was comped a room at Trump Casino and she, his brother, and his brother's family were spending Friday night there. So Drew, his girlfriend, and I had dinner Friday night at Buffalo Wild Wings, then I won $100 playing online poker at Drew's house. Saturday Drew and I got Burger King, and let me tell you, I never appreciated BK more because there were two of them near my old job and I could go to either of them right now since my school is near my old job, but they both closed. And I can't eat McDonald's because that shit is just toxic. If my stomach can handle White Castle and Taco Bell and all the other junk food I eat, it should tell you something that it can't handle Mickey D's.

Then Saturday evening, Ronnie continued to try to impress his current girlfriend by telling the guys going to the wrestling match (me, Drew, and his brother) to wait until he got to Drew's house so that he could drive us the 40 minutes to the match even though he wasn't going, then he and his girlfriend would perhaps go to Navy Pier and wait the three hours for the event to end, then pick us up and go somewhere for dinner. There was no reason for him to do that other than he was trying to show his girl what a magnanimous guy he is. If the pussy wasn't there I guarantee he never would have made that offer because there was nothing in it for him. As it turned out, Drew called him to come pick us up when the steel cage was being constructed for the main event because we figured it should be about 15 minutes for the cage plus about 20 minutes for the match. But Ronnie arrived fairly quickly, and there were problems with the cage, so when he got there, the main event had not even started yet. Ronnie made the mature decision to not wait for us and took off for Mokena, which is near Park Forest. I can say he wouldn't have been that much of an asshole if he didn't already know that Drew's brother had driven to the wrestling match by himself and therefore could drive us back to Park Forest, but I'm not 100% certain. We met Ronnie and his girl coincidentally at the same Buffalo Wild Wings, had a late dinner, and made plans to get together the next day.

Ronnie and I used to be in a bowling league together, and we're very competitive when we bowl against each other, not yelling at each other competitive, but silently concentrating on the game like it was a PBA Tour event. Since he will never admit that I am a better bowler, he never asks me to go bowling with him unless he's feeling like he has to build his self-esteem, and having this new girlfriend certainly qualifies, so at his suggestion, Sunday evening he, his girlfriend, Drew, Drew's girlfriend, and I all went bowling. The last time we went bowling was before I met "Karen" or "Sarah," so almost two years ago. And Ronnie had another advantage: He knows that I generally don't do as well bowling with a house ball and shoes as opposed to my own bowling ball and shoes, which were back at home on the North Side of Chicago, a good hour plus away not counting traffic. He was going to leave it up to me to bitch about not having my gear and look like I was a wuss. But I went anyway. I had not bowled myself since late last year, so I started very rusty, and as a result, Ronnie actually beat me the first two games. I even offered to bet him the second game, since I finished the first game pretty well, but he declined. But after the second game, feeling full of himself, he waited until I had pried off the rental shoes before announcing, "Okay Dre, it's time for you and me, one on one, the main event, what everyone came to see." He then bet some money on himself, but he bet with Drew, not with me. I wasn't about to put money against him after losing the first two games. But I should have, because I forgot how tight his asshole gets when there's money involved and the score is close late in the game. I beat him 150-99.

The night wasn't over, of course, because Ronnie would not let me win a contest against him in front of his girlfriend. That was the point of going bowling, not to have fun, but to show his white girl that he was the bigger nigger. So despite everyone being tired, we went to Drew's house to play an '80s trivia game, which he won by one question over me after I had a big lead. And I guarantee you, if I would have won that game, a long night of poker would have followed, anything to prove that he was better than me. But finally, after the game was over around 3A, everyone left. I got about 4 and a half seconds of sleep before Drew's crazy-sounding alarm went off, and we hopped on the Metra, he to go to work and me to go home. And boy, was I sore. Just imagine two 340-lb. black guys heaving bowling balls as hard as you can, competing in a silly tug-of-war, the latest in a ten-year rivalry. I would've soaked in my tub when I got home, but I was too tired to run the damn water.

I was on track for a regular week of night school when I was met by the head of the English department Thursday on my way to math class. Just like last year when he surprised me by telling me that I had won a scholarship for an essay I wrote, he surprised me again by telling me that the teachers union banquet where I would have received my award last year was canceled at that time because the union was on strike and had more important things to worry about, but now the banquet was the next day, Friday, and would I like to come and stand up and be announced? I said sure. So I made a trip to Greektown yesterday, at a restaurant called the Parthenon. I had a great meal, several courses of authentic Greek cuisine, gyros, rack of lamb, Greek salad...I was stuffed. And when the announcement was made for my award after several other students had received theirs, I guess the people involved with the scholarship did not want me to come to the stage and receive nothing, since they already awarded me the $500 prize last year, so they had another envelope ready for me this time, with a check for an extra $100. Fucking awesome! As with the first check, I was honored and stunned, and I couldn't thank them enough.

That doesn't solve my problem of what I'm going to do with myself this summer though. I'm still wrestling with my sensible option of moving back with my uncle and not having to pay so much in rent, but sacrificing my independence, my less-than-sensible option of staying here in Chicago and continuing to look for work, and my "OH MY GOD, ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH?!?" option of packing up and moving to another part of the country that I've never even visited just as a change of scenery, since I can't get a job or get laid in Chicago. I have to make a decision soon, as my unemployment runs out in July. But no matter what, receiving this award from school and receiving the compliments I've received about my blog (hey Keish!) means that I will continue to write and continue to go to school and work towards a degree some day. I may have low self-esteem, but apparently I can write my ass off.